Birdhouse In Your Soul
by Rinkinkirs
Summary: His life had never been ideal - why would it start with Ichimaru? AU, slash, HitsuGin.


**Summary:** His life had never been ideal - why would it start with Ichimaru?

**Notes:** I've been writing this on and off ever since I finished _Sheep_, so… that's two years. Talk about slow. This is just the first 2000 words, but I know where I'm going with it now, so it won't be too long until it's complete, as it'll only have two or three parts.

This is built on the oneshot _Sheep_, but you don't have to read it (please don't). It's pretty much about Toshiro being disinherited by his rich family because he's gay, and moving in with his beau (Ichimaru) even if they don't really know each other that well.

Edit: Title changed from _Like a Bird_ to _Birdhouse In Your Soul_, because it's an awesome song from the nineties.

* * *

Living with Ichimaru was a challenge, even when he was on his best behaviour. He only cleaned when he was up to something, and their systems of organising things were completely different. Toshiro had no social status left to speak of in upper society, and he didn't have to worry about sneaking Ichimaru in through back doors - not that they ever had. All in all, it more than made up for Ichimaru's unfavourable habits, which included leaving tea bags everywhere, leaving the dishes until hairy green spots started appearing and not pairing up the socks after they'd been washed and dried.

Days melted together in a mass of relaxation, and even though things weren't quite ideal, he didn't really mind. His life had never been ideal - why would it start with Ichimaru?

He hadn't applied for a job yet. It wasn't likely to be a problem with his credentials, but for now he was content living in Ichimaru's flat for a while, at least till things (namely the reporters) calmed down. The Hitsugaya family had not publicly disowned anyone in more than a century, and it had caused a furore, in particular since Toshiro was the media's favourite Hitsugaya. The family had never been known for their compassion, but though Toshiro was cold, he didn't act as much of a cold-hearted bastard as his kin. Personally, Toshiro simply thought he wasn't as composed, but he had to admit that his entire family – himself included – was emotionally disinclined. Ichimaru merely sniggered and told him they loved him because he was pretty.

The sun was casting a golden light across the park right across from their flat, and the treetops were shimmering where drops of rain clung from last night's bout of bad weather. He had no doubts that there were a few recalcitrant photographers beating around the bushes. It was a miracle no one had found Ichimaru's address and posted it on the Internet, although he didn't think he was that important. Just until the next twenty-something rising star got caught on camera with their trousers down.

Ichimaru had been working a lot of overtime, since the library was short on hands (or so he said – Toshiro had seen the rent), so there was no one around to interrupt his thinking. He almost wished Ichimaru would open the door and rush in, sniggering over whatever as he pushed him up against the wall and blew a raspberry into his neck.

He tied his laces slowly, put on his dark blue coat and locked the door behind him.

Toshiro couldn't even begin to understand what had resulted in Ichimaru's employment in a public institution. Ichimaru was scary enough on a _good_ day, never mind the stressful situations they inevitably ended up in.

He walked down the street to his left, catching a glimpse of a lens glinting in the sun. (Couldn't Spears or someone have a scandal again so they'd leave him alone?)

His pace was even as he silently recited their shopping list, knowing he'd forget something without writing it down somewhere. He sighed wearily, making a spontaneous stop at a Starbucks only a couple turns away from the library. The line was far too long for comfort, seeing as people spent their waiting time glancing at him. Surely they had seen him in the neighbourhood earlier. Neither he nor Ichimaru had been discrete. He knew that the reasons behind his ostracising had not yet reached the news, but it was only a matter of days. There had been rumours for a long time, but since no statement had been made, people were watching him as if he was a particularly interesting bug.

He was relieved to be handed his coffee by a stuttering young woman and escaped the heavy air of the coffee shop with another sigh.

The library wasn't as overrun by visitors as it usually was this time of day. He walked directly to the front desk, ignoring the disapproving look from the librarian lady when she spotted his coffee. She looked very stern, with her grey hair in a tight knot and square glasses with black, unforgiving frames. Her glare made her seem even more unpleasant.

"Do you know where I might find Ichimaru?" he asked in a clipped voice. Stepping outside of the flat had made him more anxious than he'd like to admit, and he had little patience for silly library workers trying to eye-rape his coffee.

"In the staff room, I presume," the librarian lady said, eyeing him speculatively from behind her glasses. She gave no comment other than a half-hearted wave to the right door behind the desk. "In there. You may go find him yourself – I'm afraid I have no time for dallying." She glanced at his coffee again, and he couldn't help but get the feeling that she was plotting its demise.

The door was closed, so he knocked briefly before opening the door to glance in.

The staff room was nice enough, he supposed, but there was a very public feel to it. Aluminium and cheap imitations of wood… It was certainly not up to the standards he had been used to, _had_ being the operative word.

Ichimaru was sitting in one of the old sofa groups, next to a woman with the most prominent frontal appendixes he had ever seen. He felt a brief flare of jealousy as he took in their amiable conversation, but reigned in any immediate responses by reciting his mental shopping list again. Toshiro bit the inside of his cheek: he couldn't help but think that he was acting severely out of character – the character he had been raised to be. It felt strange to him, caring for someone that much, and even stranger that he was supposed to trust him. Caring had always been followed by political intrigue, before.

"Ichimaru?" he ventured, watching quietly from the door as Ichimaru's head turned around. It was reassuring to see his face light up, as if Toshiro was his favourite tea (first flush Himalayan green, which was a bit above what their budget could handle).

"'Shiro!" Ichimaru bounced over to throw his arms around him, barely avoiding a collision that would have spilt all his glorious coffee. Ichimaru's attention was diverted at once. "You brought coffee!" Ichimaru said, grinning widely as he snatched his cup. "I knew there was a reason I love you."

Toshiro felt warmth rush to his cheeks, but was torn from his embarrassment by an excited squeal.

"So this is him?" She moved closer, stooping over in front of him to take a closer look at his face. Toshiro averted his eyes, as propriety demanded. "He's short."

No one called him _short_ if they valued their integrity, propriety be damned. "It's not my fault you're a mutant of enormous proportions," Toshiro said snidely, putting her on the receiving end of a sullen glare.

The damned woman squealed again, bouncing – and damn, if that wasn't nauseating. Toshiro vaguely contemplated the possibility that her breasts had gained enough mass to establish independent lives, but dismissed the notion as folly the moment it passed through his head. He wasn't prone to fanciful trains of thought.

"Ichimaru?" he said stiffly. "Do you have a bug repellent?" God. He was getting seasick.

Big Breasts just laughed. "Matsumoto Rangiku, at your service."

He contemplated adding, "And what kind of services have you offered _Ichimaru_?", but felt pretty sure he didn't want to know. There was no mistaking the casual touches, the affection, the hopelessly wide grin on Matsumoto's face.

He knew Ichimaru knew that he knew. He also knew that Matsumoto didn't know that Ichimaru knew.

Toshiro sighed. Sometimes, he wished he didn't love Ichimaru.

He was pretty sure Ichimaru knew that, too.

.

Later that evening, Ichimaru bent down and looked into the fridge, putting a finger to his chin. "Forgot ta go to the store?"

Toshiro peered over his shoulder. "Oh," he said, scratching his head. It wasn't like him to forget. He blamed Matsumoto for putting him off balance.

"Oh indeed," Ichimaru said. "Eat out or order in?"

"I don't feel like being gawked at."

"Order in, then."

Toshiro hummed a vague agreement, moving around things in their tea shelf with faint disappointment as Ichimaru started flipping through the mail to find the phone. They were out of green tea again. With a sigh, he grabbed a bag of some herbal crap and dumped it in the steaming water of his favourite mug. He really wasn't in the mood for dealing with anything today, much less lacking good tea.

He opened a drawer, sighing dejectedly for what seemed the hundredth time that day. They were out of chocolate, too.

Ichimaru just looked over and called him a girl, but Toshiro noticed the faint brown smudge on the side of his mouth. He refused to say anything. Ichimaru smirked, offering him a brief taste through a kiss, which was sticky and far too sweet.

There was nothing good on TV, either. Toshiro had a habit of checking the TV program and marking the shows he'd like to watch. Ichimaru usually marked all the others in a conniption of spite – he could hardly call it conniption nor spite, as Ichimaru just found it amusing, but it caused _him_ a conniption of spite, which usually ended up in Ichimaru curiously falling out of the bed in the middle of the night – but there wasn't much worth remembering anyway. He stumbled upon an episode of House and stopped switching channels. Just as he had settled in his favourite corner with his tea cup, the doorbell rang.

Ten seconds later, it rang again.

"Get it, would you?" he snapped.

No answer but for the faint sound of splashing water from the shower.

He huffed, mumbled something about the world being out to get him and scowled all the way to the door. The pizza guy gawped at him, still holding out the pizza. Toshiro snatched it, not in the mood for pleasantries, and snapped, "How much?"

Pizza guy opened and shut his mouth a few times before it stayed open.

"How much?" Toshiro repeated, irritation lacing his voice. Pizza guy seemed to jerk out of his thoughts, blush reddening his ears as he muttered an apology. Toshiro fought the urge to growl.

Ichimaru's hands landed on his shoulders and steered him away from the door, leaving moist patches on his t-shirt.

"I'll deal with it," he said airily. "Or I'm pretty sure they'll refuse to come back."

Toshiro wasn't sure he'd mind so much if their employees were that incompetent.

When he'd finally settled into his sofa corner again and looked up, Ichimaru was grinning at him from the door, towel slug around his shoulders, pizza box in one hand.

"I thought ya didn' want ta be gawked at."

"I don't."

"Then why did'ya open the door?"

Toshiro sent him a look. "Who else would have?"

"Who lives here?" Ichimaru shook his head, ruffling Toshiro's hair as he put the pizza on the table. "Silly, silly, silly. Don't have ta do everythin' by yerself, ya know?"

"Yeah, well, who's an idiot?" Toshiro muttered.

"Who has a severe case of hormonal imbalance?"

"Who's acting like a five-year-old?"

"Then who's acting my age?"

"Ichimaru…" His voice might warn Ichimaru not to take it any further, but his lips were threatening to stretch into a smile. They really did sound like kindergarteners.

Ichimaru gave his best grin, having successfully defused what could have easily turned into an ugly fight, and grabbed a pizza slice. "We've been sleepin' together for two months," he mumbled as he chewed. Toshiro grimaced. "There ya go, still callin' me Ichimaru."

"It fits you. Gin just reminds me of the Gin Act, which reminds me of alcoholised old geezers."

Ichimaru laughed, taking a sip of Toshiro's mug. Toshiro hadn't even noticed it was gone. "Should I feel offended?" Ichimaru said.

"Moot point. I don't call you Gin."

"I call ya Shiro, so I wan' a pet name, too. How 'bout Ichi-koi? I'm your one true love, ya know."

"Ichimaru," Toshiro said, not even attempting to hide the warning in his voice.

"Aww, shucks, I know you love me. No need to say it."

Toshiro wasn't sure he agreed. Some things needed to be said. "Ichimaru, I…"

"Shh, now. You're interrupting the episode."

Toshiro glanced at the TV. A commercial was playing. "If you say so," he muttered, stealing his mug back. Ichimaru gave him an unrepentant grin.


End file.
